The Christmas Guest
by MediEvil Ways
Summary: Poor boy! Merlin so needs comfort and a break from his Destiny. Well, he's getting it in this story. Merry Christmas! :-   Aithusa makes an appearance as well.


**Disclaimers**: I do not own Merlin – the BBC does.

**A/N**: _Merry Christmas_, everybody. Haven't we all wanted to comfort poor Merlin at some point? Especially after this Saturday's episode? Nobody listening to him. People ignoring him and threatening him with banishment? Well, he needs someone maternal to lend him an ear, so here I am. Not my real name in the story, though, you'll have to live with that. ;) The dog's real – I do have a huge white German Shepard, but Duchess is not her name either.

Note – December 24 is the day when Danes celebrate Christmas, both dinner, Yule tree and unwrapping the gifts – no Boxing Day, then. Gløgg = a warm grog-like Yule tide drink, invented by the Swedes.

**The Christmas Guest**

**- the story of a Christmas miracle**

It was a dark and stormy night …

Yes, it actually was! Celia had been working on Christmas dinner all day while the weather had been cold, sunny and completely passable. Round 4 pm, however, dark clouds had spread over the sky like a vengeance, quickly enveloping the entire country in a veil of dark grey. Just as quickly, it began to snow and snow hard, resulting in a blizzard that soon became a hazard to traffic.

Celia stood looking out the window, safe in her warm house yet still entertaining a furrowed brow. It was December 24 and she expected six guests. What were the odds that they would make it through this kind of weather? Not that she was surprised. The global warming had played most countries wicked tricks the past five years and Denmark was no exception to the rule.

An alarm went off and tore her attention from the weather to the kitchen. Guests or no guests; there was no reason to ruin a perfectly good duck just because she was worried.

Bending down to open the oven door and fending off her huge and hungry white German Shepard at the same time, the middle aged woman managed to dodge the hot steam that erupted from the oven opening. Six bloody hours! Six bloody hours and she might be forced to eat this creature on her own. She quickly poured hot oil over the poultry and put it back in the oven, turning up the heat. There. This should ensure crispy skin.

Then the mobile rang.

Cursing, not at all in synch with the season, she went to pick it up, knowing full well that this would be the first guest to cancel Christmas Eve!

Fifteen minutes later, all her guests had called to cancel – one even from a ditch where he and his car were currently being lifted out by a roadside assistance truck. He had even left his home in ample time – ample time to slide down into a ditch and call assistance upside down. Celia gave him strict orders to go home and stay home. This was not a weather for man nor beast, to quote her favourite comedian, W.C. Fields.

Yet, this left her and her bigger than life dog, Duchess, completely alone Christmas eve. She snogged her dog and shrugged her shoulders. So be it! She would light the Yule tree, eat LOTS of duck, help herself to some lovely warm gløgg and pancake puffs, prepared the old-fashioned way with apples, and just enjoy a silent night in front of the tree, singing Christmas carols and nuzzle her dog. The said dog licked her fingers in anticipation as if she knew what her master was thinking.

The duck resting comfortably underneath a cloth to settle its meat and the dog watching her intently, Celia was lighting the last candle on the tree. It looked beautiful. She sighed with a feeling that was very much like happiness. Now, she thought, looking up in a short prayer, if only she had just one guest ...

Duchess suddenly started howling, her head flung back, her eyes squinting, her muzzle in the air and a harrowing, ominous howl leaving her mouth. Celia looked at her in alarm. She wasn't getting one of her tummy aches again, was she? Trust Destiny to make her dog ill on Christmas eve in a blizzard! Then all thought of the dog's health left her as a blinding, white flash exploded right in front of her, blowing out all the lit candles on the tree. Duchess was no longer howling, she was screaming and a loud thud made the floor and the walls tremble. _Earth quake?_

The powerful flash and deep rumble had left the dark haired woman breathless, but what she saw lying next to the Yule tree, made her forget to breathe altogether.

A boy. Barely a young man. Pale skin, raven black hair, huge, bewildered eyes and long lanky limbs, flailing helplessly in the air. Celia blinked. And blinked again. Then she shook her head gingerly, looked up and said out loud: "If only I had a chest full of gold...!"

The joke was as old as she was, but Celia wasn't being humorous – she was being greedy. Nothing happened, though; she would have to do with the one guest, which was spectacular as it was. Legs unsteady, she knelt by the boy to check if he was real … and unhurt.

"Father Christmas?" she attempted, very hesitantly. But the young man was neither very old nor had she any chimney pipe he could have used for entrance.

The young man had begun to say something, but as far as she could hear, the speech was slurred and quite possibly in a language she had no knowledge of. As she checked his pulse for shock and bones for fractures, his speech gradually became less slurred, and it occurred to her that it might be Gaelic – or Norse. She looked at him and shook her head to communicate their mutual linguistic problem. Two anxious eyes, ocean blue and dark, peered back at her, their expression growing a little annoyed with her lack of linguistic skills. The intruder reached out a slim, long hand and touched her forehead right between her eyes. His touch had a profound effect. He had barely connected with her skin, but she felt it as if she was being bolted back in time and space and her brain split open. When she caught her breath again, she saw him nod at her, and heard him saying: "That's better. Now you understand me."

"I do?" she said in surprise, and added, "I do, don't I."

Duchess had joined them on the floor, resting her muzzle on the young man's nape.

"Aithusa," he breathed, his voice gentle and affectionate. Celia glared at him.

"Sorry? Alusa? No, her name is Duchess Does she remind you of your own dog?"

"Aithusa," her guest repeated and corrected, "No – of my dragon."

"Dragon," Celia dead panned, a certain disbelief crawling into her tone. She felt herself about to be lost in a fog. Who, how, what and especially how again came to her mind. She got a grip and decided to take it from the top.

"_**Who**_ are you?"

"Merlin," the lanky shape said, getting up and dusting himself down. He was still somewhat wobbly and Celia lend him a supporting hand as she led him to her sofa.

"Well, Merlin (_yeah, right! - As if!_), my next question is _**how **_you got here, but for now you should sit down – you seem awfully shaken."

"I am," he said, his voice getting weaker, "the magic that brought me here has weakened me – and I'm not quite where I should be."

Celia sat beside him and handed him a mug of hot tea, "what do you mean?".

Merlin accepted the mug and asked, "what year is it?"

Celia popped an eyebrow, looking the image of incredulity. It wasn't every day that someone asked you what year it was. Perhaps this boy had a mental illness? She'd better play along.

"2011 AD."

"I must have taken a wrong turn."

Celia blinked again. She wasn't getting any wiser. The young man called Merlin felt it keenly. He put down his mug and looked at her with somewhat tired eyes.

"I come from a place called Camelot and I was practising a spell that is designed to transport me through space, but apparently it has also brought me through time. Do you understand?"

Celia nodded, her expression somewhat empty. "Absolutely," she lied with a stiff smile. _This is my mind running rampant; I have just "seen" a person emerge from thin air, manifesting himself on my flooring planks. I must be more stressed out than I realise and this is how my brain reacts. Boy, I __need to see a doctor._

But, hey, who was she to turn away a figment of her imagination. She wanted a guest? She got one! Even if he didn't exist. Determined, she rose.

"Well, regardless of how you got here, you are my special Christmas guest and I welcome you to my home. You like duck? I hope so – we've got plenty!"

His hostess left and went into another room – the kitchen, as far as he could ascertain. Merlin turned towards the white monster dog and started petting her.

"I can't believe I find you here, Aithusa," he murmured, stroking her soft, shiny white fur, "it must have been you who attracted my magic – otherwise, why would I end up here of all places?"

Duchess responded by burying her muzzle even more deeply in the young warlock's chest, her hot breath warming his chilly skin through his tunic. "I have to go," he murmured, words getting caught in her thick mane, "I just need to gather some strength first. It took all my power to get here."

Merlin drew back and looked into the beastie's eyes. "You don't remember, do you? Who you are? Well, you will."

Then he kissed her between her eyes and tried to stand.

Celia came back just in time to see him wobble back into the sofa. She tut tutted out of concern.

"You're not ready for anything but sitting down and relaxing, are you, laddy?"

"I do not wish to be any bother," Merlin murmured, but let her stuff supporting pillows behind his back.

"You won't be. Quite the opposite," Celia admitted, "my guests aren't coming due to the charming weather we're having, so you're just what the doctor ordered. Now I don't have to eat the blasted duck alone. And that's an ten pounder, so I hope you have a huge appetite."

Twenty minutes later, the infamous duck with delicacies on the side was on the dinner table. Huge, crispy and menacing it lay there on the silver plate, ready to be carved up by Celia's monster knife. Merlin suddenly found his teeth watering.

Christmas carols on the CD-player that had Merlin stumped and anxious in the beginning, flickering candles on the window sill and on the dinner table, not to mention a tender duck and tasty red cabbage with sugared brown potatoes, all made sure that both Celia and Merlin shared the comfort of good company and engaging ambience. Before long, the warlock found himself chattering pleasantly of his life in Camelot and the trials and tribulations he suffered there. Aithusa/Duchess came over to push her muzzle against his hand now and then and his gracious hostess made sure he wanted for nothing. Soon they were toasting in gløgg made on warm red wine and spices and eating pancake puffs for desert and Merlin found himself wanting this night to go on forever.

"Oh, please," Celia urged him, "please dig in – you are so blooming thin, young man, you make my eyes water."

Merlin wolfed down seconds, thirds and fourths without breaks.

"Are you getting no food where you live?" Celia murmured in wonder.

"Sometimes I skip a meal," Merlin said, his speech muffled by food, "depends on what chores Arthur has for me."

Celia shook her head. "No boss should put chores over meals. That's not how you treat your employees. I would quit if I were you."

Merlin took time to look at her in disbelief. "I can't!" he said so vehemently that lumps off pancake puffs almost rolled out. "Why is that?" Celia challenged him.

"It is my destiny."

"Fiddlesticks!" she said, no-nonsense, "you make your own destiny!"

"Well, I'm working on it."

"Then, put your foot down and tell your employer you won't stand for it."

"He might fire me."

"Not if it's truly your destiny, Merlin."

This made the young man taciturn; he looked down into his plate and didn't look back up until he felt her hand on his, squeezing it kindly. "If creating Albion and being by Arthur's side is truly your destiny like Gaius and the dragon keep telling you, then you can't really do anything to change that – including getting yourself sacked. Stand up for yourself! Demand respect. You deserve it."

"Arthur sees me merely as a tumbling goof," he said, his eyes harbouring much the same expression as her dog when she felt she was being chastised for something she hadn't done.

"One day – he will not. No one can be that blind for an eternity," Celia emphasised, patting his hand and then retracting her own. She rose. It was time to clear the table and light the tree again. Time for dancing round the tree, as the Danish tradition prescribed, and opening presents. She stiffened. Presents! She had no present for her Christmas guest! Slightly panicky, her eyes roamed her living room and her guest.

And that's when she saw the blue neckerchief that Merlin had removed and put down on one of the chairs. It looked worn and quite frankly really dirty. Bingo! Celia put down the plates and with a quick 'be right back', she scooted up the stairs. Ten minutes later, she came down, now carrying a somewhat hastily wrapped parcel that she proceeded to place underneath the tree. Merlin followed her curiously with his eyes. Then she grabbed his hand.

"Can you stand? Not wobbly any more? Good. Come with me, then, and we'll walk round the Yule tree."

"Why?" Merlin gaped at her.

"It's tradition," Celia grinned back at her young friend.

She handed him a piece of paper with an English Christmas carol, but she had quite forgotten about the small, but significant language barrier. She might be able to understand him, but he had no chance of understanding the modern written English. Instead, she bade him sing a song he knew and she would then do her best to chime in.

It ended up being one of the oddest Christmas carols Celia had ever added to her repertoire. The song was about a young man and his true love, an evil sorcerer, magical creatures and monks.

Sitting down on the sofa again, Merlin laughed out loud, relaxed and happy. Then his hostess disappeared behind the Yule tree and when she came out, she handed him the wrapped parcel she had brought down from the first floor earlier.

"Merry Christmas, Merlin," she said, her voice gentle and soft. Merlin looked at her in confusion at first and then proceeded to unwrap it as she nodded at him.

Quite frankly, Merlin had no idea what they were celebrating and the word 'Christmas' meant nothing to him, but he liked the atmosphere and felt the joy, peace and happiness contagious.

Not knowing exactly what he had been unwrapping, Merlin held up a very long, knitted scarf. It was of several colours, mauve, red, blue and black and white in stripes and very fluffy and light. Merlin looked at Celia, his eyes slightly bewildered.

"I noticed your neckerchief is a little worse for wear," she commented softly, "this is its replacement – for those cold days where a draught on your neck feels like a thousand piercing winters."

Merlin put the soft scarf against his cheek.

"I'm grateful," he said silently, "I shall wear it always. But I'm sorry – I have nothing for you."

"You're wrong," Celia grinned, "you are my guest – that is your gift to me and a valued one."

She raised her glass, looking at him through the dark red wine, "to the future, Merlin – your future."

"Which is to your past," Merlin smiled back, "I drink to you – in all times, Celia."

In the inviting softness of the sofa and the warm tinkling of the wine and the gløgg, Merlin ended up telling Celia all about his inner fears and apprehension towards the cruel enemies of Camelot and not least, but rather most, of his secret life as a warlock. Celia tut tutted at the right places, offered a comforting 'aww' now and then and eventually spiced his gløgg with something a little stronger than red wine to ease his troubles.

Finally, Merlin leaned back, his chest heaving with a deep sigh of both fulfilment, relief and sadness.

"I have to go," he professed, "but this … this was just what I needed. I wish I could stay."

Celia smiled. "Sometimes one just needs to get away, flee to somewhere where no one knows you."

Merlin nodded. "Obviously. I have never felt so relaxed and warm at heart."

Then he rose. "I should probably go outside. I don't want to put out your candles again."

Celia grinned. "Let me get a frock."

While she was gone, the young warlock sat down next to Aithusa/Duchess The beast was so tall, he almost had to look up from his position. Looking into her eyes, his irises turned golden with a flash as he sent a dragonlord's call deep into her mind. _**Aithusa**_.

The dog's eyes responded by turning golden momentarily, the pupils becoming narrow in two seconds before reverting to their original shape. Merlin smiled broadly and kissed her on her brow.

Then he got up. It was time to leave this place of haven where he had felt completely safe.

The night was pit black and full of snow swirling in the storm, whipping viciously against cheeks and becoming entangled in hair. Celia stood hugging herself, wrapping her frock tightly round her slim form and looking at Merlin in concern as she saw his gangly form exposed to the extreme coldness of the weather. However, his shape was already glowing with magic and she knew he couldn't possibly be cold. Her present was wrapped safely round his neck, the ends flying wildly in the aggressive wind. Celia suppressed a smirk: He looked like Dr. Who, she realised.

"Thank you for everything," he said, locking eyes with her one last time.

And then he was gone.

Celia didn't hang about, but instantly went back into the house, closing the door securely behind her. Once she had freed herself from the frock and the several layers of snow that had already settled on her, she sat down on the sofa and snuggled up with her giant dog.

Her chest heaved with a deep sigh. It had been some Christmas – her mind had given her a memorable night that she could tell no one about or they would have her committed to an asylum. Because that was what it had been, of course. Merely her imagination going wild. Celia closed her eyes, keenly feeling how fatigue forced down her eyelids. It was time to call it a night.

The next day two things struck her as infinitely odd:

Where did that neckerchief that was lying on one of the chairs come from?

And why were the eyes of her dog yellow and the pupils narrow and vertical?

Ho-ho-ho!

THE END


End file.
